


Chess, Ethics, and Mental Health

by Sanrodri



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanrodri/pseuds/Sanrodri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry sleeps 18 hours a day, rarely leaves his room, and has no interest in doing anything. When Hermione has him see Dr. Miller, a wizard and therapist who has firsthand experience with both the war and depression, Harry finally begins to believe that he can feel better. But Dr. Miller's real identity is a mystery to Harry and when it is at last shown to him, the revelation changes everything.<br/>---<br/>Draco Malfoy suffered from depression and PTSD after the war, which led him to pursue a career in Clinical Psychology so that he may some day help others like himself. He is now a practicing therapist who treats his patients with a glamour on so as keep his identity a secret. When he first meets with Harry Potter, he thinks that he can maintain an objective and professional point of view, but he soon realizes his mistake and vows to show Potter his true face, regardless of the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry Potter and Major Depressive Disorder

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to PedanticDictionary and Danijayy for their awesome beta work.
> 
> Also, quick warning: This story contains Therapy, Depression, and PTSD. ...And gay sex. It will contain gay sex. :P
> 
> (I made a twitter for my fics and art!: https://twitter.com/SanrodriFics)

There were only so many mornings that Harry Potter could stand to wake up to before he eventually gave up on work and friends and decided to wake in the afternoons. The change didn’t make him happier, but at least it made his misery a little more bearable. He woke up at whatever time he fancied, ate whenever he pleased, and watched the telly until the early hours of the morning before falling asleep again. He rarely left his bed, much less his room. In fact, if it weren’t for a meddling, bushy-haired friend, he might have lived that way until he wasted away.

An abrasive knock sounded at the front door, causing Harry to groan and turn up the volume on the telly. The doorbell rang soon after, and Harry simply raised the volume even higher, which turned out to be a mistake, because less than a minute later, Hermione Granger was pushing open his bedroom door.

“Now before you say anything, I used the spare key you gave me and let myself in. I knocked and rang first, so don’t go saying that I’m invading your privacy. Harry, for Merlin’s sake… For all I knew you were dead. We haven’t heard from you in weeks! Have you been in here the whole time?” Hermione’s concern and disappointment were both clear in her voice.

Harry simply raised the volume higher, making Hermione huff. She tore the remote from his hand, turned off the TV, and faced him with pursed lips and crossed arms. He rolled over. He didn’t have the energy to deal with everyday life anymore, much less all that was Hermione Granger.

“Harry, enough is enough! I don’t know what you’re feeling or what’s going through your head because you won’t talk to anyone!” Harry refused to respond. Instead he pulled the covers over his head. It was a childish move, but maybe then Hermione would get the message that he wanted to be left alone.

“Fine. I’m leaving a business card on top of the remote by the television set so that you have to at least touch it. I already made an appointment for you. It’s for today at 7pm. That’s in three hours. You don’t need to shower; you don’t even need to get dressed. You just need to use the floo. I’m leaving some floo powder by the fireplace. This man is smart, Harry. He’s smart and he’s discrete. Go see him.”

The door to his bedroom closed, and a few seconds later, the front door opened and closed again.

Harry didn’t move from under the covers. He didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. He’d only been awake for an hour, but maybe he’d take another nap…. He closed his eyes and relaxed into his mattress, sinking into the warmth.

* * *

 

Harsh light and cold air woke him. There were people talking angrily around him and one was pulling on his arm. Harry didn’t understand what was happening.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER. GET UP THIS INSTANT.”

“’Mione, leave him alone! He’ll go when he’s ready.”

“Shut it, Ron! He’s going to go whether he likes it or not. “

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose…?”

As Harry’s eyes adjusted and he put on his glasses, he saw a frazzled Hermione pulling on him stubbornly.

“The appointment is in 15 minutes, and you still need to fill out the paperwork!” He sat up finally, groaning all the way as he slowly rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Why was she doing this? “I swear on Merlin’s grave, Potter! If you don’t get up this instance I will resort to violence!”

Harry reluctantly got out of bed and let Hermione lead him to the floo. Years of friendship had taught him when there was no longer any point in resisting. She led him into the living room and got into the fireplace with him.

“Dr. Miller’s office!”

They stepped out into a quiet sitting room that was filled with plush armchairs, velvet sofas, and soothing music. It seemed to be tailored to have a calming effect on its visitors, but it only made Harry feel bored. He sat in the armchair closest to the fireplace, a crimson chair with silver detailing, and flopped back, not caring about where he was or who Hermione wanted him to see.

“Harry, I need you to fill out this questionnaire. I will fill out the rest of the paperwork. You only need to answer this one, ok? It will hardly take any time at all.”

She gave him a clipboard and a pen, but his eyes could only barely make out the words. When was the last time he’d had to read?

Ron sat on the floor next to him and motioned for Harry to hand him the clipboard. The brunette happily obliged.

“Alright,” said Ron. “On a scale of one to five, have you experienced any disturbances in your regular sleeping patterns such as sleeping too much or too little?”

“Five,” Harry mumbled.

Together, they quickly went through the entire questionnaire until there was nothing left to do but wait. At 7pm on the dot, a bespectacled man came into the room and asked for Harry to follow him. He said hello, shook Harry’s hand, and led him away from Hermione and Ron. It was at this point that Harry started to feel anxious. He gripped the wand in his pajamas and took it out, needing the feeling of the wood in his hand to steady his nerves. To his surprise, the man made no move to stop him. He only continued walking until they reached an oak door that led to what appeared to be another sitting area; though this one seemed to be in a small office. It had two armchairs, and a small table in between them had a box of tissues on it. Paintings hung on the walls, and the floor was made of smooth marble. It seemed pretentious to Harry, but the man he was with seemed safe enough, and he knew Hermione might murder him if he left, so….

Harry sat down and the man sat across from him.

“Hello, Harry. Do you know where you are and why you are here?”

Harry shrugged.

“I’m guessing therapy.”

“That’s correct. I prefer my patients to come in of their own volition, but your friends made a very good case, so I decided to allow them to bring you in if, and only if, you refused to come on your own. This will be the last time I allow anyone to take away your freedom, I promise.”

The man in front of Harry seemed very intelligent, but also very humble and welcoming. This annoyed Harry. The man had light brown hair, dark blue eyes, and average features. There was a shimmer about him that told Harry that the man had a glamour in place.

“I see that you have noticed my face. I am using a glamour, but I have not made it perfect, so as to remind my clients that the face they see is not who I truly am. I do not wish to deceive anyone in any way. However, due to my own personal life and the high profile of most of my clients, I find it beneficial to wear this. All of my clients have the option to wear a glamour as well, so as to not be recognized in the waiting room, but you are not required to do so.”

Harry shrugged.

“There was nobody in your waiting room.”

The man gave Harry a soft, reassuring smile.

“That is because my practice closes at 5pm. Again, I was swayed by the case your friends made, so I am allowing you certain liberties that I do not allow others. Now then. My name is Dr. Miller. I earned my degree in Psychology at a muggle University, and-”

“I’m sorry, doctor, you seem fine, but I don’t like therapy. Just let me sit here until the time’s up, and then I can go back home.”

“I see. While I do not want to force you to do anything, I would very much like to help you. So what if we make a deal?”

Harry glared at Dr. Miller. Did he think he was child? He didn’t need to make a deal. He was an adult, and if it weren’t for the fact that it would hurt Hermione and Ron even more, he’d leave in an instant.

“No deal.”

Dr. Miller frowned, and Harry felt a sweet satisfaction that he hadn’t felt in a while. He might not be able to leave, but at least Dr. Miller wouldn’t be happy, either. At least he wasn’t looking at him in a calm, _happy_ manner.

“Let’s play chess.”

“What?” Well that was random.

“Let’s play chess.” The blue-eyed man waved his wand, and a chess board appeared on the small table between them. “We might as well do something to pass the time. Have you played before?”

Harry scoffed and made the first move.

They played in silence for a few minutes and then…

“My apologies, Harry. Checkmate.” He didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

Harry looked at the board, sure that the doctor had made a mistake but, no, he really had lost. Nobody could beat him that quickly. Except, of course-

“Ron is the only person who has ever beaten me that quickly.”

“He sounds like a formidable player. Do you two play often?”

“No. We haven’t played since…” Harry went silent. When _was_ the last time he had played with Ron? Blimey….when was the last time he had _spoken_ to Ron other than earlier that very day? He looked at Dr. Miller, who was patiently putting the pieces back to their initial squares. “Well, I can’t actually remember. Probably not since we first became Aurors.”

“That’s a shame. Chess is a lovely game that both excites and challenges the mind. Perhaps you two can play soon.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He didn’t actually think he would though. Setting up a day, time…getting showered and dressed and them having to make conversation just to play a game. No. It was too exhausting to even think about.

“Shall we play again?”

Harry sighed, but this time, put more effort into playing. This time, the game lasted 15 minutes before Dr. Miller took Harry’s king.

“Bloody hell… Ron really would love playing against you.”

“Perhaps. But it would be more interesting if you played with him and had him teach you a few things. Then maybe you could go more than 15 minutes without losing.” The man’s eyes shined playfully.

Harry was shocked. Had the _therapist_ just made a joke? He looked at the man, who was smirking, and helped him reset the pieces back on the board. Harry looked at the clock. Only 25 minutes had passed.

“Again?” Harry was tired. He both wanted to play and didn’t want to play. “If not, we can perhaps do something else?”

“I’m tired. I’m sorry. I’m really tired. I just want to go to sleep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you not sleep well last night?”

Harry gave a dry laugh.

“I’ve slept a good 18 hours out of the past 24.”

“I see. So then, you can’t have any rational reason to be tired, yet you feel exhausted.”

“Yes. I don’t know what it is. It’s like…Like all the sleepless nights I had in the past have all come together, and now I need to make up for them. It’s stupid.”

“You don’t like sleeping 18 hours a day?”

The question surprised Harry. It was something that he had never even considered. _Did_ he like sleeping that much every day?

“No. Somehow, that makes me tired, too.” Everything made him tired.

“You know, if you would like, I can help you to not feel so tired all the time. I’m not a miracle worker, but I can definitely help.”

Oh. He had been working up to this the whole time. He was manipulating him.

“You’ve been manipulating me this entire time.”

“I’ve been steering you, yes. I wouldn’t use the word ‘manipulate’. It has a negative connotation.”

“So that’s your job, then? Manipulating people into thinking they feel better?” Harry was livid. He stood up, ready to leave.

“One second, please, Harry. I promise to be completely honest.” Harry turned toward him. “Yes. My job is to manipulate. However, it is not to manipulate you into thinking you are better, but rather, manipulating you to speak to me, and then, perhaps, to help open your mind to alternatives. You don’t have to live how you do right now. You don’t have to be so sad that it physically hurts. You don’t have to be exhausted by your emotions and your thoughts. You don’t have to be anxious and scared. You don’t have to hide.” Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Dr. Miller cut him off. “Hold on. Full disclosure. I’m not just a well-meaning man with a degree nor am I a man who just wants to get paid for an hour of talking. I’m a man who has been exactly where you are and who somehow managed to get out of that hole. I’m not supposed to talk about myself and I’m not supposed to tell you how to feel, but you are stubborn, Harry, so you are forcing me to be as well. You feel helpless. You feel unfixable. Well, fine. Maybe you are. But maybe you aren’t, and if there is any possibility that you could one day feel even an ounce better, then don’t you think that playing chess twice a week with me is worth it? I promise to go easy on you.”

Dr. Miller smiled, but it did not reach his eyes, and it was obvious how important this was to him. Was it important to Harry? Did he care enough about himself anymore? But feeling better…he’d do anything if he could feel better.

“Alright. But today, I’m leaving early.”

“Fair enough.” Dr. Miller stood and shook Harry’s hand. “I’ll see you on Thursday at the same time?”

“Uhm…what’s today?” Would he even be able to come back? Did he have the strength?

“It’s Monday, Harry.”

“Right. Ok, thanks. See you Thursday.”

Harry turned to leave, unsure of what he had just agreed to.


	2. Draco Malfoy and his Patients

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into a typical day in Draco's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find any typos, please message me so that I can fix them ASAP.

Draco closed the door behind Harry Potter and allowed himself to relax at last. He sighed, tiredly, removed his glamour, and walked back into his office where he could go over Harry’s paperwork and write notes about their session.

It had been an odd first session. Usually, he asked the client about their life, their feelings, their family, etc. But Harry Potter had not come in of his own volition… Draco had already broken one rule. There was also the issue that he knew Harry personally, that they had been childhood rivals who despised each other. He wasn’t supposed to treat people he knew… though he had broken that rule before. He was the only therapist who also happened to be a wizard with experience in the war against Voldemort. This made him special, in a way, and he felt it was his duty to help survivors. But treating Harry Potter was something more altogether. He knew he was venturing into an ethically grey area. Yet, if he didn’t help Harry, who would?

Draco finished writing his notes and filed them away in the bottom drawer of his desk. Then he opened the top drawer, took out a glass and a bottle of firewhiskey, and poured himself a drink.

It would all be fine. All he had to do was remain objective, or, at least, as objective as any therapist could be with any of their clients.

* * *

 

The alarm blared at 6AM, and Draco promptly shut it off before going through his morning routine. He had learned a long time ago that routines were his friend. He showered, got dressed, ate the breakfast his house elves had prepared for him, read the Daily Prophet, made calls, checked up on his various investments, and was in his office by 9AM, half an hour before his first appointment of the day.

“Good morning, Dr. Miller. I wrote down your messages and left them on your desk.”

“Thank you, Ms. Diggins.”

Bells Diggins had been Draco’s receptionist for almost two years now. She had a short blond bob, cat-eye glasses, and an uncanny ability to keep Draco’s affairs organized, despite being unable to do the same for herself.

“Oh, and your mother called. She said I couldn’t write down her message and that I had to tell you personally.”

Draco frowned. Why was his mother using muggle means of communication? And why didn’t she simply knock on his bedroom door? They both lived in the Manor, after all.

“Please write it down for me, and send it to my office via paper plane.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Draco went to his office, took out his notes for his next patient, and refreshed his memory.

Ah, yes. Mr. M, a high-profile wizard who always wore a different glamour when he came to see Draco. The blond rolled his eyes. It didn’t matter. His gait, posture, height, and manner of speaking all told Draco that it was Seamus Finnigan, a Hogwarts alum and Gryffindor through and through. As far as Draco was concerned, Finnigan no longer needed therapy, but the man insisted on coming once a month to chat. It was obvious that he considered Draco to be a friend and didn’t want to give that up, even if it meant having to pay for a session every now and then. Draco had often explained to the man why they could not be friends, and why they needed to maintain a professional relationship, but Finnigan continued to show up every month with a bottle of expensive rum that the blond was ethically obligated to turn down.

A paper airplane slid under his office door. Draco waved his wand, and the paper unfolded itself and landed on his desk.

_Draco, I’ve instructed your assistant to tell this to you directly because it is of a sensitive nature. I have found a few items of your great uncle’s in the attic, stowed away behind a rather large ottoman. I won’t be home for a few days so that you can deal with the situation on your own. Stay out of trouble._

_Mother_

Lovely. That could only mean that dark artifacts were found. He no longer had any connections in the Auror department, so how on earth would he get rid of these items both safely and discretely?

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.” Ms. Diggins walked in with Mr. M, who smiled brightly before sitting down in an armchair that he must have considered to be his own by now. “Thank you, Ms. Diggins.”

He vanished the note Diggins had written and moved to sit across from Mr. M.

“’Ello, Doctor. I ‘ave great news today.”

Draco smiled. Finnigan might get annoying, but it still pleased him to see his clients happy.

“Do tell, Mr. M.”

“Dean proposed. We’re gettin’ married in jus’ three months.” The man grinned from ear to ear as he told the news. “We’re movin’ ‘round ‘ere, too, so if you ever want, you can stop over fer dinner.”

Draco frowned this time.

“M, please. You know that it would ruin our therapist/client relationship if-“

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m firin’ ya. Ye’ve said it yerself, I’m fine. If I need therapy in the future, I’ll find someone else.” Finnigan removed his glamour. “See? It’s all out in the open. I’m Seamus Finnigan. Nice to meet ya, Dr. Miller. Now, will ya please come ta my weddin’ that is only possible because you someone managed to help me figger out which way was up again?”

The blond couldn’t help but laugh.

“Alright. But I must keep my glamour, and I won’t be stopping by for dinner in the future.”

“But ye’ll come ta my weddin’.”

“If I’m officially fired, then yes. I’d love to be there.”

Finnigan somehow managed to grin even wider than before.

“Fantastic! Bring Ms. Diggins too. I wouldn’t want ya ta be bored.”

“That’s very kind of you. I will do just that.”

The two men spent the rest of the hour discussing ideas for Finnigan’s honeymoon, and once their time was up, Draco refused to accept payment. After all, his most improved patient had fired him at last. How could he charge the man for that?

His next patient was young woman who had very recently graduated from Hogwarts. Her name was Cassandra Gil Osle, and she was of Spanish decent. She suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder which often made her depressed, anxious, and resulted in her impulsive cutting. Draco liked her, but worried constantly about her lack of support system.

“Hello Cassi.”

“Hi.”

Cassi sat down, her red hair pulled up in a messy bun. She seemed to not have put much effort in her appearance which usually meant that she wasn’t doing very well.

“How are you?”

“I really hate that question.” Cassi smiled and rolled her eyes. “I feel like I’m supposed to say that I’m fine all the time, but I don’t really know how I am.”

“Oh, please.” Draco had been seeing Cassi for two years and knew her well enough to know that if she tried, she could be present and describe her feelings.

She smiled again.

“Uhm. I don’t know. I’m all over the place I guess. The past two weeks have been insane. It’s been like there’s a hurricane happening in my head. Plus so much has happened that I just don’t know what to feel. Uhm... But right now I feel anxious. And a little annoyed because I really hate that question.” She crinkled her nose as him and he couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s good. Good.”

“Yeah. It’s been insane. I’ve had all these problems with my family, but then they were nice again, and now I’m getting a dog and I haven’t applied to any jobs, so I feel like a terrible person. And I don’t know. It’s been a lot. I don’t know.”

“So not applying to a job makes you a terrible person?”

She sighed.

“Well, rationally, obviously not. But I feel like it does, even though I technically know that it doesn’t. But I still feel it. Are you going to give me the therapist speech about feelings and how you have to accept them, but keep in mind that they aren’t reality and blah blah...?”

Cassi was a bright young woman and liked reading about Psychology. That, plus her two years of seeing him, made her come up with quite a bit of assumptions, but they were often right.

“In a way. But I also asked so we could discuss it further. This feeling that you have that you are a terrible person, it doesn’t only come up from not applying for a job.”

“Well. Not exactly a terrible person, but like…stupid. I’m stupid.”

“That’s interesting. I’ve always found you rather intelligent and capable.”

“Then why do I do all this? Oh, right. Because I’m depressed.” She sunk back in her chair and looked at the clock. That was her anxiety showing. She tended to worry about the session ending before she could talk about everything that she wanted to discuss.

“Yes. Exactly. The depressed brain tries to make sense of its own depression and that’s why you get these thoughts of inadequacy when you are in fact, smart and capable. And, fundamentally Ok.”

“What does that mean? Fundamentally ok?”

“Well, in the grand scheme of things you are ok. You finished Hogwarts with good marks, you have a boyfriend, friends, etc. You are doing ok.”

“I don’t feel ok.”

Draco frowned.

“I know you don’t. And that’s what we need to work on. How to get you to accept your okayness. Does the make sense?” She nodded and then gave a small laugh, this time crinkling her nose without realizing it. “What?”

“You moved that painting on the wall to where I suggested. I like that.”

He gave her a soft smile. He felt a great fondness for Cassi, and her happiness, no matter how small, never failed to warm him.

During the rest of the session they discussed aspects of Cassi’s disorder and general problems. He suggested that she not just get any dog, but rather a puppy. Various studies had shown that dogs help with anxiety and depression, and he suspected that one so young and helpless might also help with her low self-worth. If she could take care of another living thing and see how greatly it needed her, then maybe she could start to feel better about herself. It could backfire, but the benefits outweighed the risks.

“I can’t pay you today, Dr. Miller. I forgot my money at home.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you next week. And remember, you aren’t crazy or stupid.”

Cassi smirked and said goodbye before stepping out the door. She seemed unconvinced, but Draco knew her well. She’d reflect over their meeting and aspects of it would begin to sink in.

He saw a few other patients, and then his day was done. He was free to organize his notes, his desk, and then wonder if the famous Harry Potter would actually show up for their meeting the next day. He sighed and put that thought aside. First he needed to go home and deal with the dark artifacts in his attic. No matter what he did, his past always found him.


	3. Harry Potter and his...Episode.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter has a bit of an episode and goes to see Dr. Miller for a second time.

The fridge was completely empty. There was not even an old milk jug or spoiled cheese. His phone didn’t work because he had forgotten to pay the bill, and he lived too far from any wizarding establishments that delivered food. If Harry wanted to eat, he was going to have to leave the house. He supposed he wouldn’t die if he missed a day’s worth of meals. Even as his stomach grumbled in protest, the savior of the wizarding world dragged his feet back to his room and sunk into bed, ignoring the foul smell of his sheets or the sweat stains on his pillow. He covered himself with a plush blanket that had been spelled to never lose its texture, and was asleep within minutes despite having woken from a five hour nap only 30 minutes prior.

* * *

 

At 6:30pm, a blaring noise woke Harry and suddenly he was back at Hogwarts with flashes of light flying around him and his friends falling one by one. Voldemort appeared in front of him, cackling, and Harry raised his wand at the imposing figure. He yelled out “Sectumsempra!”, too terrified to simply disarm the Dark Lord. He was rewarded by a sharp stab of pain on his left cheek, which only sent him farther down into desperate terror. Now Voldemort was standing above him, so Harry grabbed his wand, but fear paralyzed him. He couldn’t think of anything. What spell? What spell? Voldemort raised his wand and began to yell “AVADA”. Harry shrieked and threw up a shield, knowing that it would not stop the spell, but unable to think of anything else. As he cast the spell, his wand went flying out of his hand so he raised his arms above him in a futile effort to protect himself. All he could do now was cower and scream until death finally came for him. But death did not come, and slowly, through his screams, he began to hear less and less of the commotion around him until the only thing he could hear was his own wailing.

“Harry…”

He looked up, terrified, but the only person in front of him was Ron Weasley.

“Did you see him?!”

Ron looked at his feet as his ears burned red.

“…I didn’t see anything, Harry.”

“But Voldemort! He cut me! He-“ Harry looked to his mirror to the left of Ron to check his cut, only to see that the mirror was shattered. “I… Wha…”

“You broke that mirror Harry. I came to see if you were going to go to therapy. Hermione set up an alarm with your wand, but she wanted me to make sure that you wouldn’t sleep through it. I got here a few minutes before it sounded and when it did, you started screaming bloody murder. When I came into the room, you attacked the mirror.”

Harry was silent. He had had dreams before from which he awoke to find his room in shambles, but never had this happen while he was awake. He couldn’t even look at Ron anymore. In fact, he wished he could hide deep beneath the earth until he grew old enough to die. Ron sighed, seemingly tired, and helped Harry out of bed before leading him to the floo. Harry stepped in, called out the appropriate words, and stepped out into Dr. Miller’s waiting room at 6:55, surprised to see that the Doctor was already waiting for him.

The man was dirty blond this time, with dark black eyes and a hooked nose. He wore the same glasses as last time, and unassuming khaki pants with a button-down shirt. If it weren’t for the glimmer of his glamour, Harry would have thought the man to be a muggle who had gotten lost while about his day.

“Hello, Harry. I’m glad that you were able to make it today. Shall we go to my office?”

Harry was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was wearing a dirty tank top and sweats underneath a questionably-coloured bathrobe. However, he followed the man, too afraid to go back home in case Ron was still there. He didn’t feel that he could face his friend after what had just happened.

Dr. Miller sat down and brought out a chess board.

“How are you, Harry?”

Harry grimaced and sat down. He looked at the therapist bitterly and could feel his disdain from their first meeting returning to him.

“I’m wearing a bathrobe.”

“I see that. Is that something you would like to discuss?”

Harry grabbed a chess piece and almost slammed it down onto its new position on the board.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

Dr. Miller smiled so faintly and so quickly, that it was a wonder that Harry was able to see it at all.

“Why are you dressed like a slob, Harry? You look like a dragon’s balls.”

This time it was Harry’s turn to smile.

“I haven’t changed since I last saw you, that’s why. Because, apparently, I’m crazy. Now go ahead. Fix me.”

Dr. Miller moved a piece on the board, and Harry quickly moved one of his own in response.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Harry furrowed his brow.

“You said that I wasn’t unfixable.”

“What I mean is that I can’t wave my wand and make it all better. If that were possible, then I’m positive that a man of your considerable talents would be able to learn the spell and fix yourself.” The therapist moved another piece and again, Harry quickly responded. “You are sweaty. Would you like to talk about that?”

“No.”

“Have you played chess with Ron?”

“No.”

“Would you like to leave?”

“No.”

At this, Dr. Miller raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? And why is that? Surely it’s not this game of chess. I’ll have you beat in four more moves.” Harry scoffed and began to reset the pieces. Miller helped. Once they were finished and Dr. Miller had moved the first piece, he spoke again. “If you refuse to talk, I’m afraid that I will not be able to help you.”

Harry sighed laboriously and leaned back in his chair, ignoring the game.

“I had an... episode.” He waited, but Dr. Miller said nothing. “I was startled by an alarm and I…” He did not want to mention that he had seem Voldemort. He didn’t want to be shipped off to the mental ward at St. Mungo’s. “I, uh, thought there was an intruder, but it was just my reflection in the mirror. I shot a spell at it and a piece of glass cut me.” He stopped talking and waited for Dr. Miller to comment, but the man said nothing. He simply looked at Harry. “Er… and I guess I’m sweaty from sleeping too much?”

This time Dr. Miller responded.

“You are sweaty from sleeping too much?”

“Yeah.”

“I know that you are a better liar than that.”

Harry was taken aback.

“What? Why would you know that?”

Dr. Miller leaned back into his chair, mirroring Harry’s position, and cleared his throat before answering.

“I’ve read about you in the paper, as everyone has, and how you deceived many to win the war. You were able to get into Gringotts.”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t lie to do that. I just said that for the press. You can’t say anything that I say in here, right?”

“That’s correct, Harry.”

He paused before continuing with the truth about his Gringotts story. Dr. Miller crossed his legs in a way that Harry could only describe as poised. It was a strange thing to think of a man. All the men he knew were like him…then again, he was an Auror. Their finesse came with casting spells, not with sitting.

“I cast an Imperius curse. And you can’t have me arrested for that. The minister already knows.”

Dr. Miller chuckled.

“I wouldn’t dream of trying to arrest you, Harry. After all, what Auror in their right mind would agree to a request like that? The man who brings you in for questioning would be risking his career and reputation.”

Harry leaned forward again, calm now, and moved his knight carefully.

“You know I’ve never liked the attention or the treatment that I get. I’m not special and I’m definitely not perfect.”

“No man is infallible, Harry, not even you. But sadly, you are special. It might simply be because of that scar on your forehead and because of the attentions of a now-dead madman, but you are special. You bring hope into millions of lives by simply existing.”

“I don’t want that!” Harry stood up briskly. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

Dr. Miller frowned, but stood up as well.

“Would you like to go home? We still have forty minutes left, but-“

“I- No. No, I don’t want to go home. But I don’t want to be in this stupid room. It’s too posh. Everything here is too posh.”

“Why don’t you want to go home?”

Harry walked to Dr. Miller’s desk and sat down in his desk chair before standing up again and leaning against the door.

“I just don’t.”

“Are you not going home at all tonight?”

“I’ll go when it’s time to go.”

“Alright.” Dr. Miller sat down again and moved a chess piece. “Would you like to play in silence for a while?”

Harry narrowed his eyes, but soon moved to continue playing. Within five minutes, he had lost, and his therapist was setting up the board once again.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Dr. Mille-“

“No. Who are you underneath the glamour? I’m spilling my guts to someone that I don’t even know.”

“You aren’t spilling anything, Harry. In fact, you are making my job horribly difficult. You won’t even tell me about the episode you had and that you are afraid to go home because you are either afraid to confront something that you did, or because there is someone waiting there that you do not want to see. As I’ve said before, I can’t help you if you don’t talk. All that I can do is speculate.”

Harry gaped. He hasn’t been so surprised in a very long time. In fact, he hadn’t felt much of anything but sadness and fear and emptiness in a very long time.

“How…” Dr. Miller didn’t say anything. He simply looked into his eyes. “How did you know about... er...?”

“Harry… I told you that I’m not just a well-meaning man with a degree. I’ve been through what you are experiencing. I’ve experienced the fear I saw in your eyes when you came out of the floo today…and the shame. Nobody becomes that afraid by simply being startled awake unless, of course, they see something more. And with your war background and your more than traumatic past, it would not be surprising to find out that you were having flashbacks, nightmares, and confusing inanimate objects, such as mirrors, with dangerous foes. You attacked something that for you, in that moment, was very real. That’s how you got hurt. Unfortunately, you won’t tell me exactly what happened, and I can’t help if I only have my speculations. I want to help you, Harry. I want you to feel better, even if it’s only a little for now. But more than all of that, I want you to have someone in your life that understands that what you are experiencing is normal.”

Harry took in a deep breath, overwhelmed. He moved a chess piece, and Dr. Miller moved one of his own. They continued like that in silence until a large clock on the wall played a soothing melody and Harry noticed their time was up. He looked up at Dr. Miller, but the man simply took Harry’s king and then began to set up the board once again.

Somehow, this made Harry feel warm inside.

The two men played late into the night, until Harry finally told Dr. Miller everything he had seen. He told him about Voldemort, about his friends falling around him, about the fear he had felt… and then he told him about Ron and the shame that he still couldn’t shake.

“If I had struck him with that spell…”

“But you didn’t.” Harry said nothing. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to put up wards against your friends for the time being. It doesn’t seem like their sudden intrusions are helping you much.”

Harry agreed, but he still didn’t want to leave. He looked up at the clock and saw that it was past midnight.

“I don’t suppose you have such long meetings with all your clients?”

He expected Dr. Miller to smile, but the man showed no emotion in response to his comment. Harry coughed awkwardly, but still could not force himself to get up and leave. He had not felt so awake in weeks and the thought of going back home filled him with dread and anxiety.

“Why are you still here, Harry?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

Harry looked into the man’s eyes and wondered why he continued to lie to him. So far, he had felt the best when he had been honest.

“I’m afraid to go home. I feel better right now, and I don’t want to go back to dirty sheets and an empty fridge.”

Dr. Miller’s face softened.

“Is there any place where you might feel comfortable? Perhaps somewhere that is not quite so posh as this?” Dr. Miller smirked and Harry felt himself roll his eyes.

“No. I’m afraid not. But I can go home. It’s late.”

“I’m sorry, Harry. We’ve already crossed a bit of a professional line by staying here so late. I should treat all my patients equally.” _Then why did you give me so much extra time,_ Harry wondered, but he did not dare ask. He sensed that his therapist would not welcome that question, and he did not want to sour the relationship he seemed to be building with the man, no matter how one-sided and artificial it may be. Harry was starting to realize that he needed this one-sided friendship…or rather, professional partnership. “However, I’m afraid that if you go home now, it will only hurt you in the long run. I know of a place where my clients stay. I have a contract with them so that I always have a room available. Go to the Red Dragon Hotel and tell them that Dr. Miller sent you and that if they have any questions, to call me. Please stay there tonight, have a bath, buy some clothes in the early morning while there are few people out and-“

Harry was feeling more and more overwhelmed as the doctor spoke. Shopping? Going outside? Waking up early?

“I… I-“

“I’m sorry, Harry. I forgot myself. Go to the hotel and enjoy yourself as you see fit. I will see you on Monday.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Tomorrow. Same time.”

Harry smiled softly and went off to The Red Dragon Hotel. Perhaps he would take a bath after all.


	4. Draco Malfoy and the Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy finds himself forced into going to Hermione Granger's home for a dinner party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not suicidal. Harry Potter is not a drug addict.

Draco slumped into his desk chair, completely aware of the fact that his entire schedule had now been thrown off. He hadn’t been able to deal with the artifacts in his attic the day before because they were giving off a strong presence, so he had planned to meet with Borgin that evening so that he could take the distasteful objects off his hands, but now it was too late for that. It was also past the time that he usually went to bed, which meant that he would be exhausted all day once he woke up in the morning and-

He moved to his fireplace and called The Red Dragon Hotel.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Hello. It is Dr. Miller. I-“

“Dr. Miller! Hello! May we be expecting you today? We have the master suite available for you.” The man who had answer the floo sounded much too eager to please for Draco’s liking. He was too tired to deal with such a man.

“I’m afraid I will not be going, but I have a patient who-“

“So late? How strange! We shall prepare the usual roo-“

“No. Please stop talking. He’s a very famous Wizard and requires your utmost-“

“Yes yes! I shall be discrete, si-“

“LISTEN. You will prepare the master suite for him. Have a bath waiting for him with the most expensive oils and salts. Offer him a professional massage, but respect his answer and do not insist if he refuses! Do you understand?”

“Ye-yes… I will do as you wish.”

“Perfect. I will send a donation to the hotel tomorrow. Let my patient check out whenever he pleases. In fact, don’t even record that he was ever there.”

“Of course, sir! Thank you so much for you abundant generosity! We here at The Re-“

Draco moved away from the flames and waved his wand, effectively cutting off the connection. He could not stand that overly enthusiastic man and his constant flattery. However, at least he could trust him with Potter.

He went back to his chair and flopped down on it, ignoring everything his mother had ever taught him. He was an adult and he need not sit up straight if he did not fancy it…

He sighed loudly.

Yes. He was an adult and that meant that he had responsibilities. He grabbed his wand, stood up laboriously, and apparated home in hopes of sleeping at least a few hours before he faced the day before him…the day that, until Potter showed up, was supposed to be his day off.

* * *

 

Draco stepped out of Borgin and Burkes, furious, but trying to keep his composure, something that he had not struggled so much with since his first year out of Hogwarts. The idiot man had refused to do any business with him.

“I don’t do business with death eaters,” he had said. “Especially those that are the reason I got thrown in Azkaban for three years!”

Draco shook with rage. The disgusting man had gotten off easy. He deserved more than three years! After all, he had helped him try to kill- … Well, perhaps it was best that he didn’t give the artifacts to him after all. Why Draco had ever thought dealing with Borgin would be a good idea, he no longer knew.

Of course, now he had no idea what to do. The only Auror he was on good terms with was Harry Potter, and asking him for help would not only be highly unethical, but it would alert the man to his real identity, and that was something that Draco could not risk, for Potter’s own sake. And, of course, Potter hadn’t been to work in quite a while. He might not even have his usual perks.

The blond stepped into Diagon Alley and decided to do a bit of light shopping before heading home. After all, it was his day off, and Potter had cancelled their appointment. His note had said he wanted to socialize... so... Draco supposed it was for the best. 

He turned to enter Quality Quidditch Supplies when the door burst open and smacked him in the face.

“I’m so, so sorry! Oh my goodness!” said a familiar voice. Draco could not make out who it was because of the spots of light dancing in his eyes. He clutched his aching nose tightly, but was relieved to feel that no blood had been spilt. “Are you alright? Ginny, hold this! Here!” Draco felt an uncomfortable cold sensation start at his nose and radiate out throughout his face until his pain was nothing more than a dull ache. When he could at last see, he saw Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley standing before him. The first wore a look of worry, but the second’s face was scrunched up in such a way that made Draco think that she was trying not to laugh.

“Thank you, Granger. I’ve never been very good at healing myself. The pain tends to conflict with my spellcasting.”

“I’m so sorry! I was looking back at Ginny when I opened the door. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Yes. Perhaps you should have, but what’s done is done. Thank you for the medical assistance. If you do not mind, I’d like to be on my way.”

Draco tried to move past the bushy haired witch, aware of the fact that he was being rude, but worried about revealing himself as Dr. Miller. The witch had always been bright, and he didn’t want any of his characteristic mannerisms to give him away.

“No, wait, Draco. I was actually talking to Neville about you the other day. He says that the two of you have become quite close.”

Draco blanched. Neville Longbotton was indeed his friend, but the reason they had gotten so close was because he had briefly been a patient of Draco’s until he caught the blond with only half of a glamour on. Longbottom had promised to not give him away and Draco had suggested a new therapist, but after that, the bloody Gryffindor would not leave him be. It had been an exasperating experience at the time, but Draco was glad for it, as he now had someone whom he could confide in about every aspect of his life.

But why on earth had the man mentioned anything to Hermione Granger?

“Yes, yes. We are good friends.”

“I’m having dinner tonight with Neville and a few friends, and I would love it if you could be there.”

“I’m afraid that I have plans.”

Ginny Weasley stepped forward and spoke.

“Oh come off it, Malfoy. Can’t you see she’s inviting you because she feels bad about bashing in your stupid face? Come to the bloody dinner, say hi to Neville, and then go wherever you need to go.”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” said Hermione. 

Draco felt trapped and suddenly he couldn’t think of a good excuse.

“Alright.”

Hermione smiled and Ginny nodded and it was done. Draco Malfoy would have dinner in Hermione Granger’s home.

* * *

 

Draco knocked at a light wooden door with his left hand because he was carrying a bottle of wine in his right. He could hear the chatter beyond the door suddenly stop and his stomach sank. He didn’t want to be treated like a Death Eater all night…

Granger was the one that opened the door. She welcomed him warmly, thanked him for the wine, and ushered him toward the sitting room, where Neville was waiting with a wide grin on his face. To Draco’s dismay, Seamus Finnigan was sitting to the right of Neville, and Harry Potter, the man who was supposed to be too depressed to even leave his house, was sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He hadn’t noticed Draco. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice anything at all, and for a second the blond forgot his own anxiety and discomfort as he thought that Potter had probably been dragged here against his will, just as he had been dragged to Draco’s office that first night…

“Draco! I’m glad you came!” Neville’s voice snapped Draco out of his thoughts, and he turned to give the man a forced smile, and a much too firm handshake.

Seamus Finnigan looked at him with wary eyes. Draco might have been angry if it weren’t for the fact that if Finnigan knew he was Dr. Miller, he would be jumping at the chance to talk to him.

“Neville, do you mind speaking with me in private for one moment?”

Soft snoring came from the fireplace and Draco looked over to find Potter asleep. He noticed that the man was dressed, but his robes were wrinkled and his hair was messier than usual. He definitely hadn’t put any effort into his outfit, and Draco felt a pang in his chest. Potter should still be at the Hotel…why did they force him to come? He wasn’t ready for that.

“Draco?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Neville and Draco went off into the nearest room, leaving Finnigan alone in the sitting room with Potter. As soon as Neville shut the door behind him, Draco let his face contort in anger.

“Why would you tell Granger that we are friends?! Do you know how dangerous it is for me to be here?!”

Neville frowned sheepishly.

“I thought that since you are nice now, that you would want nice friends…you don’t have friends really…”

“But I don’t like these people!” hissed Draco.

“You didn’t like me at first either.”

Draco didn’t have a response. It was true. When he first met Neville in his office after so many years, he still didn’t think much of the man, but after they were forced to interact, he learned how intelligent, capable, and even brave his new friend could be.

“But… They don’t like me either.”

“Hermione does! Well, she is indifferent, but she’s giving it a go for me. Ron is… He’s hesitant and Ginny…” Neville turned red. “Well at least Harry didn’t seem to mind you.”

“Potter was asleep! And did you ever stop to think that some of these people might be my patients? If I am found out-“ Neville laughed at this, causing Draco’s anger to grow. “What, pray tell, is so bloody funny?”

“Nobody would think you are Dr. Miller. He’s kind and understanding, while you… Well, you are haughty, snobbish, and you have a pretty nasty temper.”

Draco felt like he had been slapped in the face. How could Neville say that? He and Dr. Miller were one and the same. He was kind, patient, compassionate, caring, and yes, also haughty, but he wasn’t two separate people. If his friend couldn’t see that…

There was a knock on the door and Draco moved to open it, worried that whoever it was had heard their conversation. On the other side of the door was Harry Potter, eyes half closed, and cloak-free. He had been wearing ratty muggle jeans and a jumper with an H on it underneath. He didn’t even seem to notice Draco. He moved past him and flopped on the bed of what Draco assumed was a guest room.

Neville shuffled out, obviously uncomfortable by the sight of Harry Potter in such a state, so it fell to the blond to remove the savior’s shoes and tuck him in. Then he leaned down to smell Potter’s breath, but it didn’t have a trace of alcohol. If not alcohol then what? Depression didn’t cause this kind of behavior. The man was too detached, too… Draco reached into his cloak and pulled out his wand to cast a variety of detection spells until he found what he was looking for. Poppy’s Breath Elixir. It was a highly potent potion that left its user completely relaxed. However, it was highly regulated and only given out in extreme cases and in small dosages by experienced MediWizards. It was impossible to tell how much Potter had taken, but if he took more than five spoonfuls, he was in danger.

“Draco, bring Harry and come out here! We’re eating early so that you can get to your meeting!”

Draco was beginning to panic. He hadn’t had to deal with this sort of situation in a long time. Sure, he had patients with drug problems and with death wishes, but it was one thing to talk about it in a controlled environment and a completely other thing to be faced with it while at a dinner party. He ran to the kitchen, pushing a scandalized Ginny Weasley aside, and throwing open as many cupboard doors as he could.

“Where where where… AH HAH.”

Thank God he was in Granger’s house. Of course she would keep potion materials in her kitchen cupboards. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the time to make a regular Wiggenweld Potion like he needed, so he grabbed salamander blood, ten lionfish spines, and flobberworm mucus. He left behind the honeywater and instead grabbed moondew drops. This might help but if he had-

“GRANGER. DO YOU HAVE BASILISK FANGS?”

“What!”

“STUPID GIRL!” Hermione scowled and Ron moved forward in anger. “YOU WERE IN THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS. WE ALL READ YOUR BLOODY MEMOIRS. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANGS?”

Hermione, annoyed but still helpful, pulled out a chest from under the kitchen sink and unlocked it to reveal five basilisk fangs inside. Draco grabbed one, grabbed a knife, and shaved about a gram of it off. He then grabbed a bowl, filled it with water, and poured all of his ingredients inside. He stirred it twice clockwise, thrice counterclockwise, and then spit inside. The potion turned pink and Draco rushed to Harry’s side as quickly as he could without spilling his concoction. Everyone followed him.

He managed to sit Potter up, with Ron Weasley’s help, and pour a small amount of the potion into his mouth. Within seconds, Potter’s eyes were fluttering open.

“Mmm….” groaned the drugged man.

“Harr-“ Draco cut Hermione off and quietly told everyone to leave the room, save the male Weasley in case he needed help moving Potter again.

“Malfoy?”

Draco blinked, alarmed, until he remembered that in that moment he was indeed Draco Malfoy and not Dr. Miller. It was odd to hear the raven-haired man refer to him as he had during school.

“Why did you take so much Poppy’s Breath, Potter?” Harry snuggled into his pillow, obviously still tired, but Draco couldn’t let him sleep. He needed to go to St. Mungo’s to make sure he was ok. “Potter? Harry?”

The man looked up at him with glazed eyes.

“Hmmm?”

“Why did you take the potion?”

Harry Potter smiled lazily.

“I just wanted to be happy.”


	5. Harry Potter and the Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter wakes up in St. Mungo's, confused and upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite a while since I've written anything. Especially with this fic. It was a combination of wicked writer's block and losing someone that was rather close to me. I hope you continue to enjoy this story. The end of this particular chapter is a bit dramatic, but don't worry. It won't spin out or detract from the main plot. :)
> 
> As usual, if you find any typos, please message me ASAP so that I can make changes.

Harry opened his eyes slowly and took a few deep breaths as they adjusted to the light.

 

“You cancelled your 7 o’clock appointment and then ended up in a hospital bed... It seems that skipping therapy has dire consequences.”

 

Harry looked to his right, toward the voice... It was Dr. Miller. He could tell by the light shimmer around his face and his usual glasses. Otherwise, he looked different (of course). His eyes were light brown, his hair was almost as dark as Harry’s, and his lips were thin and dry.

 

He didn’t respond to his therapist’s joke...or attempt at a joke. He didn’t even know where he was, or why... Had he said hospital?

 

“Harry... Would you like a glass of water?”

 

He nodded, suddenly painfully aware of how dry his throat was.

 

Dr. Miller brought him a cup of water and he drank it slowly, his therapist holding the glass as Harry sipped. It was almost awkward how helpful the man was. Once Harry finished, Dr. Miller placed the cup on a small table near Harry’s bedside and sat back down in a flimsy-looking chair, not too far from the bed.

 

“Better?” Harry nodded and Dr. Miller spoke again. “Do you know where we are?”

 

The brunette looked around. He saw a typical hospital room...but he was a Wizard, so obviously...

 

“...St. Mungo’s?” Harry managed to croak out.

 

Dr. Miller got up and helped him drink a bit more water before responding.

 

“Yes. Do you remember why?”  Harry shook his head. “You overdosed on Poppy’s breath.”

 

Harry’s brow furrowed. Overdosed? That couldn’t be right... He didn’t remember taking any Po- _Oh fuck._ He had been nervous. He had cancelled a therapy session to go to a dinner party... He was nervous about socializing, he wanted to feel light... he wanted to feel... _happy..._

 

He looked into Dr. Miller’s eyes, fully aware of the fear that would be reflected in his own. His therapist looked...tired.

 

“Harry, I’m sorry to ask, but I have to. Did you try to kill yourself?”

 

Anger, fear, and confusion built up suddenly and aggressively within Harry. He was overwhelmed by the emotions, the implications of the question... _Kill myself? I chose to live when I could have died years ago! Why would I kill myself now!_ He wanted to yell... or throw something. But he was weak and he could barely speak, much less shout. He settled for glaring at Dr. Miller as pools of anger began to build up in his eyes, quickly clouding his vision.

 

The therapist simply looked back at him patiently with soft, compassionate eyes, but Harry was too angry- no. Too _flooded with emotion_ to do anything other than glare. Eventually, Dr. Miller sat back down, but continued to stare at Harry and wait.

 

Harry looked away as his mind raced.

 

 _I didn’t bloody try to kill myself. What the fuck are they going to do now? Lock me up? I’m not crazy. How could he even ask me that? He’s supposed to be the person that supports me and helps me feel normal. I didn’t even take that much potion so how in the hell did I end up here? Why does this fucking shit always happen! I just wanted to feel better. I_ needed _to feel better._

 

He was holding back real tears now.

 

_I was supposed to get better. This therapy bullshit was supposed to make me feel better. There’s nothing better. This is it. This is all there is. This is how I feel now. God, I was fucking better off sleeping all day and feeling nothing!_

 

“Harry...”

 

He snapped his head toward his _fucking_ therapist. Harry scrunched his nose and the corners of his mouth turned down. He was furious. He finally had someone to blame and he was going to take full advantage of that fact.

 

“You-” he coughed. Speaking was painful. Infuriatingly enough, Dr. Miller handed him his water again. Harry slapped it away and the plastic hospital cup flew to the ground, the water spilling on Miller’s shoes and the tile underneath them.

 

“I’m on your side, Harry. I have to ask these questions. They were going to send someone else in to evaluate you, but I convinced them to let me through instead. The doctors want to know if you attempted suicide and unfortunately, I need a yes or no answer.”

 

“No,” he whispered, trying to lace as much venom into that solitary syllable.

 

“Okay. And I believe you. But now I have your word and I can answer them honestly. I have a few more questions, though. I understand speaking is difficult now, so would you like to answer yes or no questions?”

 

Harry nodded despite himself. The quicker he got through this, the quicker he could get rid of Miller.

 

“Are you having thoughts of harming or killing yourself right now?”

 

_Oh, FUCK THIS._

 

He sat up rapidly, making his head spin, but he didn’t care.

 

“Harry!”

 

He slung his legs to the side of the bed and stood, almost falling down, and stumbled his way toward the door of his hospital room.

 

“Harry! Stop it! They’ll call someone to restrain you!”

 

He grabbed the door and pulled, flinging it open, before walking straight into a rather large man.

 

Instantly, Dr. Miller was at Harry’s side, close enough to smell, but somehow not touching Harry.

 

“Sorry, we seem to have spilled the water. Please, sir, will you ask someone to bring us a bit more? Thank you.”

 

And with that, Miller pulled him back by his robe, once again somehow not touching Harry, and firmly shut the door.

 

“Do you _want_ to be restrained?” he whispered angrily. “Are you _trying_ to get admitted into the mental ward, _Potter?_ Get back in bed before I have to violate any other rules to keep you safe!”

 

Harry stood his ground, too stubborn to return to bed, but too afraid of getting sent to a mental ward to leave.

 

“Fine. I’ll talk to you here. As I was saying, do you want to hurt yourself now?”

 

Harry glared.... But shook his head.

 

“Have you ever purposely harmed yourself in the past or attempted suicide in the past?”

 

Another head shake.

 

“Are you seeing or hearing anything that other people do not see or hear?”

 

Head shake.

 

“Have you ever seen or heard anything in the past that other people do not hear or see?”

 

A pause, and then... a nod.

 

“Other than snakes speaking or the Dark Lord in your mind?”

 

A nod.

 

“Are you thinking of the flashback you had and the incident with the mirror?”

 

Another nod.

 

“Have you ever been in a hospital for mental health reasons?”

 

On and on the questions went until Dr. Miller came to the end of a list he seemed to have in his mind, and at last the man let out a long breath.

 

“Ok, Harry... We both know you didn’t try to kill yourself, but nevertheless, there are people that are worried. I’m going to step out and give your Mediwizard my official evaluation. He’ll likely then allow guests to visit you. Also, he tells me your vitals are stable, and as soon as I clear you mentally, you can go home. But he wants me to make an action plan for the next 24 hours. So I will see you tomorrow night for therapy. That’s my plan. Therapy tomorrow night, and tonight, a friend of your choosing can stay with you. Will you agree to that?”

 

Harry nodded. What other choice did he have?

 

Dr. Miller nodded back and stepped out of the room, leaving Harry alone for roughly 20 minutes. By the time Hermione and Ron came in, Harry had given into his aching legs and returned to bed.

 

“Are you alright?” asked Hermione.

 

“Throat hurts...dry.”

 

“That’s a side effect of the Poppy’s breath and the antidote Malfoy made you.”

 

_Malfoy?_

 

“Other than that, are you ok?” asked Ron.

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Bless Merlin... We were worried about you, mate.”

 

“Harry,” said Hermione, “We went to your flat and looked at the bottle. The Poppy’s breath is expired. Malfoy said that expired Poppy’s breath can be fatal, especially if you take a higher dose than is recommended for your weight.”

 

 _What does she mean by_ Malfoy _?_

 

“I brought you water.” said Ron. “A scary bloke outside barked at me to get some.”

 

“Now, Malfoy said that you need plenty of rest and liquids for the next week, so I already stocked your kitchen with teas and juices. I bought you some canned soup, too, to make it easy for you, but I can-”

 

_Stop talking. Please..._

 

“Oh! And mum can make you whatever you like!”

 

“No solids, Ron. Remember what Malfoy sa-”

 

_Malfoy?_

 

“To hell with Malfoy.”

 

“He saved Harry’s life!”

 

_Malfoy saved me?_

 

“And then disappeared! He hasn’t even asked how Harry’s doing!”

 

“Oh, who cares about that? He’s probably giving us space. Don’t you remember how white Harry got last night? Harry, I really thought we were going to lose you.”

 

“You did scare us, mate. But don’t worry about anything. We are going to take care of-”

 

“Stop!” Harry managed to whisper. Luckily, his friends were currently hyperaware of his actions and heard him perfectly. He motioned for the water, and Ron quickly handed him the cup. Harry drank slowly and took 5 deep breaths before speaking again.

 

“Malfoy? What?”

 

“He made the antidote,” said Ron. Did his friends not realize they were being infuriatingly vague?

 

“Explain.”

 

At this, Hermione took over. As she spoke, Harry’s stomach sank further and further...

 

“Harry,” began Hermione, “Draco Malfoy came to dinner. Do you remember that?”

 

Fuck, no he didn’t.

 

“Well,” Hermione continued, “Ginny and I ran into him while shopping and accidentally hurt him. I know he’s good friends with Neville so I invited him to dinner as an apology. He’s the one who noticed that something was wrong with you. He saw your symptoms and quickly figured out what to do. Harry, he made the antidote that saved your life. If it weren’t for him, you’d be dead right now.”

 

“Actually, Harry might owe him a life debt.”

 

“Oh, that’s so old-fashioned, Ron. Do you really think Malfoy would make him do that?”

 

“It’s not about making him. It’s about the magic that binds old Wizarding families. Harry is a Potter and he’s the head of the House of Black...”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened.

 

“So does that mean-”

 

“Harry,” Ron turned toward him. “If what Malfoy did was enough for a life debt then you’re going to have to pay it.”

 

“What...” Harry forced himself to speak despite the pain. “What if I don’t?”

 

“Your magic will weaken until the debt is repaid, or until you don’t have any magic left.”

 

_No._


End file.
